Work Text:
While the others return to Oakhurst, trying to blend in with the humans for as long as possible, Owen and Scott remain at the castle. The devil knows the fledglings are too attached to their humanity to leave the small comforts they had made in the town for a ruin. They’ll return eventually regardless of the state of the castle, but fixing the place up won’t hurt.
For all his bravado about not getting his hands dirty, Scott makes himself useful quickly as Owen returns with lumber and stone to build up the walls of the ruin. In his weakened state, the process isn’t as easy as Owen had hoped. At the very least, they can continue to work in the daylight without the risk of burning at this stage.
Owen finishes ripping up old carpet and tosses it aside. The floors will need quite a bit of work. One of the loose floorboards catches the wrappings around his wrist, pulling it loose and revealing old scars. The scars, which never faded even when Owen was at his strongest, he hated deeply- and yet, despite his hatred, they remained so deeply a part of his being that even the strongest vampiric magic simply refused to heal them. Louis had warned Owen, but the possibility hadn’t daunted him at the time. Perhaps they wouldn’t bother him as much if he had been able to spend more time with him.
Owen lets out a snarl, grabbing the loose fabric and re-wrapping it tighter. If he was still human, it would have cut off circulation quickly. He digs his nails into the palm of his hand and stands up. They need more lumber, and it surely has nothing to do with the way he knows swinging an ax will relieve at least some of the rage boiling in his chest.
As he leaves, Scott looks up from the measurements he’s taking at an old doorway.
“Would you try to bring some more animals back? It won’t be long before we grow too strong for them to trust us,” Scott says.
It’s a truly reasonable and thoughtful request. Owen knows it won’t be long before the gnawing of hunger grows too strong for them to ignore, especially once the fledglings return with empty stomachs. He agrees, and he truly wants to express that, but…
“I’ll do as I please,” he snaps, and then freezes on the spot. His chest tightens with fear of consequences- Why? He’s just as strong of a vampire as Scott is right now. A fight would most likely end in a stalemate, Owen returning to being a loner at worst- he absolutely does not become more fearful at the thought.
“Alright.”
‘Alright’? Owen wheezes out an unneeded breath- old habits die hard. He talked back to an elder vampire- one who is seemingly quite fond of hierarchy. Surely, it can’t be alright. Surely, there is punishment coming. He swallows hard, another old habit.
“Owen?” Scott’s voice seems far away, yet all too close.
Just as Owen thinks he can’t get more tense, a hand comes to rest on his shoulder. He can’t suppress the scream that tears its way from his throat. His arms fly up to cover his face, awaiting the worst.
The worst, of course, does not come. Because Owen is not a child, and Scott is not an angry parent here to punish him for insolence. Because Owen’s parents are long gone, and Scott, despite his appreciation for hierarchy, does not demand Owen’s respect. Because Scott is not looking for the first excuse to get rid of Owen.
The silence between them is deafening and painful. Finally realizing that Scott doesn’t intend to hit him, Owen bolts out the back of the castle. Still shaking, he scrambles behind a large tree- it will hide him, even if his sobs are heard, they won’t bother to search the forest. He curls up, knees to chest and his arms over his head, his body- supposed to be strong- shaking with each sob.
What is he doing? He’s supposed to be an adult. He’s two hundred twenty-five years old, damn it. He’s a vampire. He’s supposed to be better than this. He’s not supposed to let anyone see him flinch, let alone everything that Scott saw.
It doesn’t change how his body cries, the way he pulls at his hair, the fear still gripping his chest. He’s supposed to be an adult, but he feels so, so small.
“Owen, sweetheart.”
He’s at least still present enough to recognize Scott’s voice. Not to respond, but he can listen.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Owen,” Scott continues. His voice is so gentle. He kneels beside Owen.
Owen can’t bring himself to look up.
“Wherever your mind brought you, you aren’t there anymore. You’re safe here, Owen.”
He knows he isn’t there, it doesn’t kill the fear that keeps him curled up and crying.
“You haven’t done anything wrong. Nothing to deserve this pain and fear.”
That is what brings his voice back. That contradiction- everyone had told him for his entire life, verbally or through actions, that he deserved the punishment. Everyone except-
“You’re wrong!” Owen manages. Part of him regrets it, but its as if he dislodged the final beam holding up a dam. “If that was true, I would be talking to Louis now, not you.”
Owen looks up at Scott just long enough to see his expression- caring, sympathetic, and so familiar. Owen’s had a conversation like this before. He doesn’t remember well enough to predict where it will go, but the familiarity is like a dog refusing to let go of a stick.
“I’m a monster. I deserve all the pain and hatred the world gives me,” Owen says, desperately trying to ignore the way it makes him sob.
“No,” Scott says, and there’s such passion behind it that Owen looks back up at him. “Nothing you could have done would make you deserve it.”
“You can’t know that for sure,” Owen murmurs.
“I can,” Scott says easily, “because nobody deserves such a thing.”
“But-”
“No buts,” Scott cuts him off. “Even the worst of men wouldn’t deserve to be treated the way they treated you, and you are far from the worst man I’ve met.”
If Owen had been a little less shaken, he might have argued that Scott was making a lot of assumptions about his past. Here and now, though? Scott’s words are enough.
Enough to bring up another memory. A memory of a promise Louis made, to care for Owen no matter how small and fearful he felt. That Owen wouldn’t always have to be strong. That he could find peace. Owen allows himself to lean against Scott’s shoulder. It isn’t enough to sooth the need- to be small and vulnerable- but surely that comfort wouldn’t be something Scott could provide. Even if he did just bring Owen back from a panic attack.
“How old are you?” Scott asks.
Owen’s mind reels. Surely Scott doesn’t know about this- this habit that Louis had introduced to him. Surely Scott doesn’t realize that acting like a child is the comfort Owen wants so desperately. “T-two hundred twenty-five?” He can’t help the way his voice raises into a question at the end.
Scott gives a little hum of acknowledgment. For a moment Owen thinks he was right, and Scott has no idea what emotions he stirred up. “How old do you feel?” Scott asks.
Tears blur Owen’s vision once again. “I- I don’t know. Do you… do you understand?” His voice wavers, but the thought of that comfort is so close he can’t help but reach out and try to take it.
“I’ve known many people who found comfort in the freedom of childhood. Even just pretending, to leave behind responsibility and be cared for…” Scott trails off for a moment, then continues. “I, myself, find more comfort in caring for others.”
Owen can’t resist anymore. He practically throws himself into Scott’s arms. “Feel so small, Scott. Dunno what to do.” His lisp comes through much stronger than usual, but it doesn’t even occur to him to care about it.
Scott wraps his arms around him, and Owen feels so, so safe. “How about we go back to the castle and figure it out? Make sure you’re comfortable.”
Owen nods frantically into Scott’s chest. “Please,” he says, voice small and higher pitched than usual.
Scott picks him up, situating Owen on his hip, and somehow, even though Scott’s skin is cold, Owen feels so warm in his arms. The warm, fuzzy feeling spreads as Scott carries him home, and slowly, Owen falls asleep.